


Close Your Eyes and Dream Yourself to Life

by agent_orange



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Graduation, M/M, Piercings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 06:37:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_orange/pseuds/agent_orange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The upcoming months hold a lot. With luck, he'll rise to meet the challenges.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close Your Eyes and Dream Yourself to Life

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Piercing AU](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/25558) by pjvilar. 



It's fairly humid out for so early in the year, and the ceremony's at least three hours long—never mind the luncheon and Alumni Association meeting. But Nate gets up and goes for a run, a short loop of two miles, to focus and clear his head. When he's done, he showers and shaves before layering his clothes.

A white undershirt, which is only needed to make sure his piercings don't show through his button-down. It's Brad's favorite, a light blue that makes the dark pants and tie a little more celebratory. And while only his feet will show from underneath his gown, there's no time to change clothes.

His parents are coming, obviously, as well as his sisters and some extended family, so Nate takes out his eyebrow ring and tongue stud. He leaves the auricle in, though; stainless steel with a crimson bead won't be a problem, and is kind of a nice touch. School spirit and all that.

Too nervous to eat much more than half a banana, he's at a loss for what to do. Brad's at the studio, knocking out some early appointments so he can take the rest of the day off, and Nate wishes he were here with something calming yet sarcastic to say. But he's so grateful Brad's schedule lets him do this, and they're staying at Grandma Patricia's old place in Southampton next week, a mini-vacation before Nate enters the workforce for real. There's, truth be told, nothing he can actually complain about: he's graduating from Harvard today, with a great job and a great boyfriend.

If only he could chill the fuck out. Even sans his usual two cups of coffee, Nate's got more nervous energy than Ray. He feels like he's going to throw up, and deep breaths aren't helping. Pacing doesn't either, but then he has to get to chapel. All his stuff's either at Brad's place or his parents' house in Maryland, so it's the last time Nate will ever be in his room at Adams. It feels strange, leaving where he's lived for the last four years, but he's moving on.

Most people don't think of their daily commute as anything special, Nate knows, but he thinks that's one of the great things about living in the Boston area. If he wants to see Brad or eat in Chinatown or do movie night at the Lucy Parsons Center, all he has to do is walk to Harvard Station and catch the T.

And yeah, not having to pay for gas or insurance is great, but he has bigger reasons for liking the train. It's mainly where he gets a quick look into the lives of people he might never see again, people who have had nothing to do with Harvard, people who he wouldn't see under different circumstances. Doctors, construction workers, moms with little kids...it's sort of how, freshman year, he realized that he's just one person of billions, and in a city of over six hundred thousand people, there was so much more than his classes and problems.

He's glad he's not leaving the area, just moving into a slightly bigger place with Brad, thanks to the savings from his part-time job and the paycheck's he'll start getting soon. It's, funnily enough, what he thinks about during chapel when he should be listening to the chaplain or whoever spout "words of wisdom and guidance."

Sorry, Nate gave that up when he was seventeen, and his diploma's not changing the fact.

*

Just be glad Fick is early on in the alphabet, Christine had told Nate when he complained about how long the ceremony would be. She's right. His chair isn't the most comfortable, but they're already towards the end of the Ds and his heart is pounding. The amount of excess adrenaline he probably has is crazy; he might just start shivering soon.

When his name is called, Nate rises from his seat and walks across the stage, centered and shaky all at once, and he barely has time to catch Brad's eye in the crowd before his photo's taken, moment's over.

Four years of difficult work for sixty seconds of recognition, plus an extra boost on his resume for the next ten years or so. But he started at eighteen as a pre-med human bio major, and he's (met some great people, failed a class, had sex with a guy, gotten punched by the Porcellian, figured himself out, met Brad, been pierced, fallen in love, learned so much) done a lot.

He's as prepared for life as he can be, and he's excited to get to see a different side of the world. He gets to contribute to it—not just as some student at an elite school, but as someone trying to make it better. Nate may not be the best student in his class, or the most qualified for his job, but he's going to try.

Plus, Brad's convinced him to get inked in celebration: mutantur omnia nos et mutamur in illis (he did minor in Classics, after all) right along his ribs. Black lettering in a simple enough fonts, since it's his first one and he's not looking for anything extravagant. He'll leave that for piercings.

The upcoming months hold a lot. With luck, he'll rise to meet the challenges.

*

Nate's parents spring for dinner at Atlantic Fish, which isn't cheap between the five of them. If his family wasn't in town, Brad would've probably just attempted to make Nate something. He's really going to need some kind of help with that soon.

"How's business?" Nate's father asks before the drinks are even on the table.

"Summer's great for us, in general," Brad starts. "People have gotten in shape for the beach—or tried to, anyway—and feel like showing off. Then we have all the college students who stay in Boston over the summer and have more opportunities to...make rash decisions." Under the table, he squeezes Nate's hand, another silent reassurance that Nate wasn't one of those kids; he isn't and won't ever be. "And the firm?"

It's easy for Nate to tune out his dad (there's only so much talk about tort and contract law one person can listen to) and focus on what's happening: Brad meshing with Nate's family, everyone pretty much at ease with each other. Even a year ago, he wouldn't have thought it could happen. His family's open-minded, but there are a lot of factors weighing against their relationship.

He takes another sip of his wine, and squeezes Brad's hand back.

*

That night, surrounded by half-packed boxes and maybe a dozen packing lists, Brad breaks out his "good Scotch"—a bottle he's apparently been saving for some time. He's glad he gets the glass that also has white creme de menthe and seltzer, not the neat one Brad drinks without any negative reaction.

"How's it feel?" he asks, and Nate remembers that Brad didn't have this. He would've skipped his high school graduation if his mom didn't make him go, but he's so intelligent and thoughtful that it's easy to forget the only classes he's taken in eight years were tattooing and health ones.

"Weird," Nate says. "Good, I guess. I don't…feel all that different." Granted, he's still kind of burnt-out between finishing his thesis and taking his finals, but their time away will solve that.

"You know, hard work deserves a reward," Brad says, and then makes a face. "Fuck, I didn't think that'd sound so cheesy." He puts his glass down anyway, reaching to pull Nate in by his collar.

"Like I'm going to complain," Nate murmurs, smiling against Brad's mouth. It's endearing to see him try at something.

He goes to his knees right there in the bullshit "living area," glancing up through his lashes as he undoes Nate's belt. Before he starts with the zipper, Brad takes off his button-down and Nate sees brilliantly colored ink and tan skin, too good not to touch as Brad teases him.

The stud in his tongue bumps along Nate's dick, a fucking amazing contrast with his soft, warm mouth. Nate has to dig his fingers into the couch and squeeze his eyes shut for a minute; they have all night, and he's not ready for this to be over.

"Can you fuck me?" he asks. There hasn't been the time for it in a couple weeks, and he's really missed it. Brad pulls off, standing up to kiss Nate, something that always makes his knees go weak.

"Here?" Brad grins. "Turn around."

"Bed," Nate says, "and use this." He yanks his tie loose and hands it over.

*

They both oversleep the alarm in the morning.


End file.
